Seeing Green
by Juliaduckie
Summary: Dean discovers Cas's journal. Within, the words recount the fallen angel's life from his decent from Heaven to finding his place in the world. Rated for later chapters. Takes place after season 8 finale. Human!Cas. Dean/Cas.
1. Chapter 1

Dean came across the box completely on accident. He'd avoided Cas' room for the past few weeks, only now venturing in to look for the red shirt he'd leant him. His chest ached as he ran a hand over the perfectly made bed, looking around at the sparsely decorated room. Cas had a desk upon which the typewriter Dean gave him rested. His bedding was a soft gray and nothing hung on the drab, white walls. Sam had cleaned out the closet a while ago, knowing full well Dean wouldn't be able to. Despite the lack of personalization, Dean couldn't help but feel a slight comfort from the simple fact that it belonged to Cas. He sighed, shaking his head clear from the fog that had settled and knelt down, reaching a hand under the bed. His blind search had lead him to knocking his hand into a cardboard box. Curious, he pulled it out and simply stared at it for a few heartbeats, unsure whether or not he was allowed to look through personal belongings.

He pushed down the apprehension that clawed its way up his throat, telling himself it was just a box, for Christ's sake. He opened it, and was greeted with a heap of a papers stored face-down. Dean reached down to the bottom and pulled out the impressive stack and flipped it over, so as to inspect what the typed pages contained.

His own name jumped out from the first page, making his stomach drop. He began to read, knowing full well that it was going to hurt, but he was desperate for some sense of closure after months of finding none. Day one, or if you prefer a more detailed description, day nine since the fall. Dean swallowed the lump that was beginning to choke him, feeling his eyes prick. This was Cas' sort-of journal that Dean suggest he keep. He'd forgotten about it. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he let out a breath he wasn't consciously holding, steeled his resolve, and read on.

* * *

Day one, or if you prefer a more detailed description, day nine since the fall. It was your brother who suggested I keep a record of these mundane events that occur daily as a sort of therapy. I doubt your limited knowledge in the field of psychology could really benefit me, but that's no fault of your own. You've always had a fascination of how the human mind works, but you've no way to further pursue that interest as your dedication to hunting takes precedence. I believe I am getting distracted. Can it truly be considered a distraction if I'm simply doing as instructed and writing down my thoughts? I doubt you intended for me to write down my every thought as that would be both tedious and an overwhelming amount of information. Currently, I'm feeling a little stiff in my lower back from sleeping in what I presume to be a bad position, I can't tell if my stomach is cramping from that last cup of coffee or if I'm hungry, my head aches and, to be completely honest, you're talking quite loudly currently and I find it rather obnoxious. Again, I feel that I am getting beside the point and that's not what should be happening.

Your instructions were less than clear, you said to write down things I find important throughout the day, lending me your typewriter for the task. You suggested that I format these entries as a letter to a specific person. Therefore, I find it only natural that I address you, Dean. But I suppose the audience isn't necessary to specify as these pages won't be read by anyone other than myself. Not that I really foresee myself going back to reread the things I've wrote. I don't consider myself one for sentimentality. I believe you're singing now. Sam's telling you to sit down and get back to helping him. I doubt you'll comply. Truthfully, these past few days haven't been as difficult as I had originally thought.

It was of course a shock to be thrown into humanity, but it was slightly softened by you and your brother's considerations. Following the fall, I heard you calling for me and I simply followed your voice to the church. Sam was in obvious pain and lost consciousness a few minutes later, but I can't be sure as to why. That's probably the most difficult adjustment for me to make, not being able to precisely know anything. Sam's suffering, that much is obvious, though I'm in a position where I am unable to help. I feel as though I should apologize. I'm sorry.

Dean, I'm not sure keeping a record of my life is really benefitting me. I find it making me feel worse. But I suppose there are not many other options for me. You just called me down, saying that we need to talk. This concludes today's entry.


	2. Chapter 2

It's late right now, or early, it depends on your point of view. Regardless, it is 3:26 a.m. and I've been unable to fall asleep. I've tried counting sheep like you suggested, but I feel that I am being too specific in my imagining. Their breed and age are important factors as to their appearance and the setting is equally critical. Even the fence they jump over must be specified in my mind. Your suggestion has been less than helpful and I feel as though I'm just not following the directions properly.

I long for company right now, but both you and Sam have gone to bed hours ago. I would feel guilty rousing you or your brother from sleep simply because I am lonely. I opened my door to see if that might make me feel less secluded, and now I can hear you snoring quietly. I am grateful you allowed me the room closest to yours, thank you.

Yesterday, you and I had talked about the prospect of me joining you on hunts. With Sam's currently less than ideal condition, it only makes sense that I carry a portion of the burden. Truthfully, I am simply happy to help you both. I am in no place to be anyone's guardian, losing that title has hurt me far worse than anything else regarding my fall. I am quite pleased that you find me a worthy enough comrade to seek help from.

You just came into my room, asking me if everything was alright; the lamp that I've got on must've woken you. You told me to lie down and rest, if I can't sleep. You say that it's better than nothing and that if I need anything to let you know.

I find it difficult to see you as the dangerous hunter you are when you appear at my door groggy and in a soft robe in the early morning hours, asking if I need assistance.

You, Dean Winchester, are still the most fascinating human I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. You are both soft, comforting words and screams of agony, the righteous man who tortured damned souls in Hell. The loving brother, the distant lover. I am in a position to see all of what you are and the results have been riveting. Even now, when I am blind to your soul's brilliant glory, I can still see how beautiful it truly is. Your perpetual patience with my fragile psyche has turned learning how to be human into an experience where every day holds countless discoveries.

I've made you visibly uncomfortable a few times (it seems discussing human sexuality over French toast at seven a.m. is a faux pas), but your understanding keeps me from feeling too guilty about my naivety.

Yes, I believe being human isn't such a terrible thing, even when restless and perplexed. Emotions remain difficult to manage as I've given in to random, alternating bouts of sorrow and panic. Again, I must thank you and your brother's continuing perseverance. It is you who forces me to talk about what triggers my moods. Otherwise, you'd be confused as to why Sam's television programing airing a special on supernovae and nebulae made me openly weep. You'd never have known that I've warmed my wings with stars' dying combustion or that I'd drift through immense clouds of cosmic particles when I simply needed to clear my head.

I wish I could share with you everything I've experienced, but I'm afraid I'm having difficulty keeping my eyes open. Perhaps another time. Good night.


	3. Chapter 3

Today's been a productive day so far, despite my sleeplessness the previous night. You woke me up late, around ten in the morning, smiling and saying something about how Sam made breakfast and how you two were waiting for me. I told you to just eat without me and closed my eyes, but you held a cup of coffee under my nose and forced me awake. You know how hard it is for me to get up in the morning, but you just laughed and told me to hurry. As it turned out, Sam had made breakfast, a sort of skillet with eggs and peppers and such. I ate probably more than I should have.

If there's one thing that I consistently enjoy about my new found humanity, it's discovering new foods. If I could, I'd spend hours reading through cookbooks, marking all the things I want to try, but I neither have the time nor access to said cookbooks.

Sam is looking well today, explaining that he got a good night's rest. He had quite an appetite at lunch as well. He's obviously nowhere near his prior strength, but at least he is able to function with more ease. He's still tiring quickly, but he's taking fewer rests throughout the day.

You're more concerned about finding a true cure for whatever it is that ails your brother, but I can tell you're happy about his current spirit. There's been an abundance of laughter from the main hall today, no task too pressing on the schedule. Crowley's since gone quiet; we've yet to find the recess in which he currently hides, although I doubt he'll be causing us much trouble. Evil creatures still roam about in which Garth's apparently been briefing you about. You mentioned something about us heading out tomorrow morning to Missouri to assist in destroying a small Vampire nest. Neither you nor Sam seemed too concerned about it, though I must admit I'm feeling a little uneasy. I'm nowhere near what I'd consider accustomed to this human form and either you've much faith in me, or you're so desperate that my condition is not of import. I'm not quite sure it matters which it is.

At lunch, we drove into town and picked up burgers from a drive-through and ate in a park a few blocks away. The weather's been wonderful, though I dressed a little too warmly for the sun. You laughed and told me it's what I deserve having chosen a sweater to wear in early summer. I quickly found myself in the tank top I had underneath all the layers. The sun on my bare shoulders was comforting and I find the smell of plants blooming to be incomparable to anything I've ever experienced. There's a beauty to the simplicity of human life that I've witnessed, but never understood. I am beginning to understand little, trivial pleasures are much more than that.

Despite the warmth, there was a slight breeze that tousled the trees' leaves while clouds indolently drifted overhead. I was a little overwhelmed at first, having so much stimulus to absorb with human senses; seeing things not as they should be but as they are. The variations of greens in each blade of grass astounded me as I merely saw the colors, not the process of photosynthesis. I am blind, compared to my previous state of omniscience, though I feel as if this is the first time I've opened my eyes. It's miraculous. I looked up from my immersive analysis to find you studying me, a small smile played upon your lips. You asked me why I looked so happy to be staring at grass. I simply told you that I like the color green.

I believe I have procrastinated long enough. I must go shower, pack, and practice my marksmanship in preparation for tomorrow's hunt.


	4. Chapter 4

Moberly, Missouri has been so far, quite uneventful. The drive was short, approximately three hours; the time passed with companionable conversations spanning nearly every topic. You told me about the recent books you've read, spurring my curiosity. I'd like to read, I just am lost as to where I should start. You told me you had a few recommendations, and I intend to remind you about them when we're back at the bunker. Today has been, for lack of a better word, enjoyable. We just arrived at our hotel where you are currently making phone calls to the hunters we are assisting. I believe you are discussing the fine details of the hunt. Apparently, the nest is located in part of the surrounding forest, but you're having difficulty figuring out the exact location.

I didn't think I'd be able to make an entry for today, but I found some stationary in our room and decided that I could at the very least write a few words. You just got off the phone and told me that we have time to look around the local shops while we gather more information from the locals involved. I was hoping we could visit the second hand store as I'd like to add a few more shirts to my wardrobe. You told me to finish writing and we'd go.


	5. Chapter 5

I am beginning to understand both you and your brother's fascination with books as I have taken both yours and Sam's recommendations and read through a few pages. Metatron's obsession with these stories is beginning to be understandable. Speaking of which, you haven't mentioned him since he cast the angels out of Heaven. I don't believe I've heard you mention anything at all about Heaven since I've turned mortal. I doubt this is less out of respect and more about focus. You're primary objective currently is to gain an understanding of the ailment that plagues Sam and how to rid him of it.

He was doing well the past few days, although he's too weak to move today. You've poured through countless books, certain that the Men of Letters seemingly limitless flow of knowledge would mention a cure. So far you have been unsuccessful and as a result, moody. I tried to help you in your search earlier, but was easily distracted by books that didn't pertain to the task at hand. After your outburst, I opted to visit Sam in his room and see if I could be of any help. His fever was making him delirious and he was mentioning random things about his childhood. I was unsure whether I should've laughed alongside him or been alarmed at his behavior. In the end, I decided getting him a fresh glass of water would be the most beneficial. I sat by him quietly until he fell asleep.

Your cursing has quieted, meaning you've either stumbled upon something constructive or you've taken a break in your research. Given your ardent personality, I'd be surprised if you'd opted for the latter. You just called me down, saying you might've found something. Sometimes, how much I know you is alarming even to me.

You seem positive that your find will work, so much so that you've decided to ignore my voice of caution. There's a spell in one of the tomes that involves using a vial of an angel's blood as a catalyst for healing. It's said to heal any human's spiritual malady, but I'm not sure how much it would benefit Sam, what with traces of demonic blood in his veins. You immediately shut that possibility down. Hence, why I'm probably doing what you'd call brooding in my room. You, Dean Winchester, can be an impulsive imbecile. You've no idea what this spell will do for Sam. If he's as much demon blood in him as I suspect, this "cure" could irreversibly damage him. But you refuse to listen to me.

I suppose I should calm down, but I don't want to, nor do I have to. It's my right as a human to be upset for an indefinite amount of time for seemingly no reason at all. I will exercise my right to do so.

A pressing matter in my head, that doesn't seem to concern you so much currently, is how to send the angels back to Heaven. I'm at a complete loss as to where to even start with a task so massive. I am but one man and it pains me to write that. It seems now that I need a voice of reason, of guidance. There is nothing but silence.

That's an inaccuracy, however. You are quietly talking to Sam, murmuring comforting words, hoping to reach his deaf ears. Where are my words, Dean? I have lost all my siblings' words of faith, their songs. I have lost everything. And I've nowhere to turn to.

Since I fell, there's been an empty pit inside me that I know will never be filled. It's an ache that keeps me up at night, makes my every smile feel forced. There are distractions to keep my focus off the hollowness, but it's always present. It's always there, waiting for when I have a second to myself, then it consumes. It hurts Dean, and there's no remedy for it.

I took a break from writing so as to read through a few pages of the poem collection your brother leant me. I've found that to be much more beneficial than expressing my frustrations on paper. That, and perhaps the two glasses of cognac. Poems are fascinating; they're nothing more than words, collections of letters organized in a certain way to represent a specific thing. I've never completely understood language, though it's a rather interesting topic to delve into. But poems are intended to be representative of, or invoke specific emotions. I am perhaps immune to their effects as I feel nothing. I think I will take Mr. Hemingway's "advice to a son", though. He seems to truly have an understanding of bitterness and loss.

I've always valued Mr. Eliot's opinion, but I find him to be almost too insightful. His description of the hollow men fits my current nature nearly perfectly. I feel that I am one of those unfortunate beings huddled together on the beach, helpless and only waiting for the inevitable failure of it all. I think I saw a complete collection of Eliot's works in the bookstore in town; I'll have to buy it.

Perhaps one day I'll try writing poetry, though I doubt I'm able to truly convey the strength of emotion simply through words such as these authors. I have my whole life to learn, though my lifespan has been greatly reduced. In time, I will forget nearly all of my existence as an angel; forget the warm thrum of grace in my chest, forget the power of my beating wings. I will replace those beloved sensations with human ones, many of which I've yet to experience. I will perhaps keep a list of which contains the things I miss the very most from my angelhood, and the human activities that could perhaps replace them. I think I'd like to learn to swim.

I've no idea when I'll be able to go about these tasks, what with all the current, pressing issues at hand. I now understand the everyday sacrifices you and your brother make day to day. It must be made easier by having someone to turn to. For now, my only company is this half-emptied bottle of brandy and these dead poets' words.


	6. Chapter 6

You seem hell-bent on tracking down an angel and bleeding them dry. I don't even think you've eaten anything today and we've been all over Wichita since you dragged me out of bed at four in the morning. I was still most definitely drunk at the time and am currently feeling the negative effects at five in the afternoon. You've been terrible today, seeming to forgo simple human courtesy and treat me as a serf. There hasn't been a single instance in which you've spoken to me in anything other than a barked order. I'm in the impala currently, waiting on you while you wandered into some sleazy apartment complex, certain that the news of some "miracle healer" pertained to our search for an angel. I don't really care at this point. I found a pen and had kept the hotel stationary in my coat pocket, and I felt that I'd only be able to write without you hovering close by telling me that there's no time for that right now. I'm hungry, tired and hung over. You didn't even offer me pain medication for my pounding head; I had to find some in the very back of the glove compartment.

Since the last time I wrote, which was about six hours ago, we've obtained a jar of angel blood, Dean having called me into the apartment from his cell phone to assist him in dealing with the angel. She recognized me instantly, but I didn't her. That is, until she introduced herself as the archangel Sophia. Her radiance had somehow been retained in the fall; she was as stunning in this vessel as she ever was in Heaven. You were however, unfazed by her beauty, demanding she bleed out for us two simple mortals. She ignored you blatantly and asked me how I'd been since I'd lost my grace. It was simple talk, which came as a pleasant surprise to me. She's always been very cordial; her and I had a close relationship in heaven. She'd taught me many things that my other siblings didn't have time to; she was the one who first showed me a definition of love that was independent of our Father.

Sophia had asked us what our business was with her, this question was directed towards you in a less friendly tone. You spat out something about how you just needed her blood, and that you'd let her live if she'd comply.

At this, she laughed and proceeded to address me again, repeating the question to me. I reiterated what you'd told her, saying that we needed it to help a dear friend who we believed was dying. I told her we were desperate and that we'd thought this spell was the only way to cure him. I further went on to explain the issue with Sam's demonic blood, despite your initial protests (Sophia snapped at you and told you to keep quiet, much to my amusement). She thought on this for a few moments, finally deciding that it would indeed be a demanding treatment for Sam to endure, but one she had faith that he'd survive. She complied, upon hearing that we're ultimately trying to get the angels back home. In parting, Sophia held me and kissed the top of my head in a characteristically affectionate gesture. I was warmed and felt the pit in my stomach shrink slightly thanks to my elder sister.

We still have a few ingredients to find, but they are infinitely easier to obtain than angel blood. The hard part is out of the way, you say in clipped tones, not at all sounding like we had the victory we did today. I bet you're just upset that no one had to kill anything today.


	7. Chapter 7

You felt guilty for the way you've been treating me these past few days, so in your mind you thought that by upgrading my cellphone, you'd be on the path to forgiveness. I've no idea how to use this damn thing, and you've gone back to ignoring me so asking you for assistance is out of the question. There's no physical keyboard; it's nearly all touch screen operated. At the very least, I have something to distract myself from your foul mood while in the Impala. I'm currently transferring yours and your brother's numbers to my contact list. It's depressing to think that there are only a few more numbers for me to enter; Kevin's and Garth's and such.

It appears there are a few games preprogrammed in the application section. This should provide ample distraction. You just told me to turn the sound off, but I've no idea how. No, I found the button on the side of the phone that is the volume control. You're laughing at me, saying that I look ridiculous going from playing with my phone to scribbling today's entry down on my pad. I glared at you, but I can't help but feel a little swell of pride that it was I who enticed such a pleasant sound out of your mouth.

Conversation's coming easier now and I've even given up my endeavors to learn how to use my new phone and devoted my attention to you. You asked me about Sophia, how I knew her. I told you as much as I could remember, about how she loved me before I even fully comprehended the concept. You were quiet for a long time, but when you finally spoke, I was sure your mood would've darkened again, but you smiled and said that siblings are supposed to make you feel good. I tell you that you're a wonderful older brother and that Sam is a very lucky man to have you as such. I confess that I am even envious of your relationship with Sam, never having such a strong bond with my siblings myself. You just brush it off, saying that the codependence between you two is hardly something to be jealous of. "Don't let the green eyed monster out", you tell me. I don't even pretend to understand what that means.


	8. Chapter 8

**Song is "Better Days" by Bruce Springsteen. Hope you're enjoying the fic so far!**

It's been two days since my last entry. You and I have since gathered the rest of the spell's ingredients and are driving back to Lawrence. We'd driven hours to get to the old stone church in Minnesota to obtain a vial of saint tears. Whereas before, I'd have been able to tell precisely which saint they belonged to, how they were martyred and when; now I must simply have faith that the revered relic is authentic. It simply looks like water in a yellowing glass vial to me.

You've decided that this is a victory worth celebrating, as your smile comes as easily as the cassette tape transitioning into a new track. Looking to me, you grin and say that this is your favorite song. Then again, that's what you say about literally every third song we listen to, but I don't mind. I have to admit, your good mood is infectious and I can't help but feel more at ease as well. We've gathered the hardest two ingredients with surprising ease; the others being specific oils and herbs, that of which the bunker has stocked. We're allowed this respite.

Singing along to the song with a surprisingly in-key voice, you nudge my arm with your elbow, trying to get me to sing the chorus I barely know.

_Now a life of leisure and a pirate's treasure; don't make much for tragedy; but it's a sad man my friend who's livin' in his own skin; and can't stand the company._ You drum the steering wheel with an open palm as your voice escalates.

You look to me in earnest and I laugh openly, as you loudly sing out, _Every fool's got a reason to feelin' sorry for himself; and turn in his heart to stone; tonight this fool's halfway to Heaven and just a mile outta Hell; and I feel like I'm comin' home. _You're barely able to sing the notes without my laughter interfering. The next part I join you, each one of our voices trying to outdo the others'; we're just trying to be louder than the other now. _These are better days, baby; these are better days, it's true; these are better days, baby; there's better days shining through._ The next verse is forgotten as we both laugh from the ridiculousness of it all. My voice is rough as my laughter dies down to quiet chuckles. I didn't even notice you're staring at me until I just glanced over. My face feels warm; I think this is a physical symptom of embarrassment, though I've no idea as to why I'd be embarrassed. Your eyes are practically glowing from mirth, but you've turned to face the road ahead. You're still silently mouthing the lyrics.

These are the simple human luxuries I refuse denying myself. I deserve what I have been given, and I have much that is coveted. Most of all, I've a family who loves me. I wish us to be just like this forever; the windows rolled down and blowing the highway wind around us, the volume a little too loud, and your smile a little too wide than what your face is accustomed to, your eyes crinkling in the corners.


	9. Chapter 9

It's overcast today, the afternoon summer storms having rolled in. The rain's been incessant in its fall; it's seeming to try to drown us out of the bunker. I know that's not possible, what with how strongly it was built. The concrete has been laid to withstand more than a strong thunderstorm. It is only midafternoon, but I'm already prepared for night's encompassing safety. Today's already been too long a day.

You administered the cure to Sam, sitting him up and help him to drink it. He immediately retched it back up, shaking and sweating. You tried again an hour later to the same effect; his body is rejecting the angel blood. I've long since retreated back to my room, Sam's reaction having made me feel sick to my stomach, which is truly an odd sensation that I should examine closer at a better time. Regardless, I've no more business with the two of you for now. I would just get in the way, so it's best for me to stay away until I'm needed.

We just discussed the possibility of injecting the serum into Sam. You looked terrible, fidgeting and unsure. It's a riskier method of administration as it would be directly forced into the bloodstream. Should Sam's body reject it then, it's very possible it could resemble a staph infection. His body could react as if the foreign blood is an infection. In that case, a complete shutdown of his major organ systems is possible. He could suffer a dangerously high fever, that of which we could only ease with the usage of antibiotics. The positive being the bunker's well stocked in such items. You're calling me down again, needing help tending to your brother. I can only have faith in him that he is strong enough to overcome this.

Sam's resting now, with you faithfully watching over him. I waited at his bedside alongside you for around thirty minutes, waiting for what I thought would be the inevitable rejection of the angel blood, but none came. He closed his eyes and now sleeps, lips slightly parted, face in complete relaxation, not twisted in agony as I had presumed. You inserted an IV needle into his arm, fearing he was dehydrated from his previous bought of illness. Whereas, I was unable to do anything. Were I still an angel, I could've at least alleviated his symptoms, if not cured him altogether. I'm so very useless at most things human. Come to think of it, I wasn't the ideal example of an angel either. I am so sorry, Dean.

I know you won't leave his side for a moment; and since I am unable to help with Sam's recovery directly, I will take it upon myself to help you with anything I can. Until I am called upon, I will try my hardest not to fall asleep. I should deny myself the luxuries you are unable to partake in; I know that it really doesn't make a difference, and that it's just to assuage my guilt. It is most certainly a daunting task, though. Hearing the rain patter upon the ground overhead is making it considerably difficult for me to keep my eyes open. I will persevere for you though, Dean.


	10. Chapter 10

Who holds the record for most days without sleep? And at what point do you, Dean Winchester, begin experiencing the common psychotic break which tends to happen after many hours of wakefulness? You're at roughly forty-six hours without more than maybe two hours of rest. I have almost given up on trying to preserve what little of your mind remains. You have yet to leave your brother's side since he slipped into the coma a few days ago. You've been loyally monitoring his vital signs, looking for any chance of Sam waking up. I must admit that I too am worried about him. I'm seeing the fragility of humanity firsthand and truthfully, it's frightening. We should have more confidence in Sam, though. If anyone is able to survive the treatment, it's him.

I too should be asleep, but I've found that these storms that roll through the Kansas plains to be far too loud for me to have a restful sleep. It's rained every day since Sam slipped under. You pay no mind to them, as they've no pertinence to your brother. The bunker's quickly running out of food; we'll have to buy more very soon. I do not wish to go alone. The world is strangely large since I've become human. I feel as though I've spent my entire existence looking at Earth through a magnifying glass, only to find that it's larger once the glass has been moved away.

Our supply of aged whiskeys is dwindling as well, no thanks to my overindulgent behavior. I've found it's easier to fall asleep after a few glasses as the thunder rolls. You haven't mentioned it; perhaps you've yet to notice. You're worried sick about your brother, though you try to hide it. I can see that every smile you give me in greeting as I come to check on Sam is forced; it's too tight lipped and doesn't meet your red-rimmed eyes. I've suggested that we take shifts watching your brother so that you could get some sleep, but I wasn't the least surprised when you politely declined the offer without an explanation. I hope he wakes soon, for both your sake and his.

It's already late, but I'm debating whether or not to take a long bath. I've found showers to be wondrous things, but bathing is nice as well. I fully take advantage of those few moments of washing to relax. The few tubs in the bunker are wide and deep, the water heater being ever-consistent in its task. It's another one of those human pleasures that I enjoy partaking in.

You were asleep at Sam's side when I walked past the room, prompting me to watch him as you rest. I will forgo my bath for some other day.


	11. Chapter 11

**I won't be able to update this weekend, so I'm posting three chapters today!**

After nearly five days of being in a catatonic state, Sam has awoken. I think he'll recover well as the second his eyes opened, he demanded food. Since waking, he's walked around the bunker and is currently washing up in the bathroom. You've managed to find a bottle of whiskey that I haven't drank and are currently pouring three glasses. You just came into my room, handing me my glass and giving me a tight hug, ruffling my hair as you parted with a grin. You said you knew that Sam had it in him and that we'd get to work finding a way to send the angels back in Heaven in time, but that celebrating was a priority at the moment. I can't say that I disagree.

It may be a little presumptuous of me, but I can't help feeling optimistic about succeeding in getting the angels back to heaven. We've a limited time before they wreak even more havoc, though most of them are in hiding. We must understand that a vast majority of angels have never stepped foot on Earth. They've an inclination towards caution, which makes our work a little easier. We've more time to dedicate to research than to follow their paths of destruction.

Their presence has been noticed, however. The news and media has gotten a hold of stories surrounding violent individuals and those with miraculous healing powers. This is still a huge task for us to overcome, though one that I'm glad to have you and your brother with me.

You called down from the hall, saying that you and Sam were going on a supply run. That most likely means more alcohol and food that can be microwaved easily by very intoxicated individuals. I can hear Boston blasting from the Impala's speakers all the way in my room. Tonight's going to prove to be quite entertaining. It's been forever since I've seen Sam walking tall and proud, and you really smiling. I myself have carried a painful weight upon my shoulders and a cramp in my gut the past week. It's nice to feel the aches lessen slightly. We've all needed to "catch a break". I've missed you, Dean. You haven't been yourself in some time.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean, you are quite possibly the best person in existence, and I've met a lot. I'm very old, after all. So old, you can't comprehend, but that's okay because you don't need to understand the abstract concept of infinite time. I'm not infinite anymore, Dean. That was hard for me to understand at first, but I've got my whole life to figure it out. Isn't that just great? You wouldn't know it, but I'd like to spend the entirety of it with you and Sam. I love you guys. You have no idea how grateful I am that you replaced the backspace ink for me in the typewriter. Otherwise, this would be an illegible orgy of various languages. I keep trying to write in Russian, but there's so few of the necessary characters at my disposal. I've lost most of other languages; snippets of Aboriginal and Tibetan still come to me at times, but I'm only fluent in Russian still. It's strange to think that of all the hundreds of spoken words, those were the ones I chose to carry. It's funny to think of all the other things I've lost. I'm not going to think about that now, though because I believe you're dancing around, listening to a record on the old phonograph and making a lot of noise. You and Sam are laughing and I think it's great. You two deserve the world with all you've been through. I'd like to join you two, but I'm having a hard time even moving my head from side to side. It feels like it's filled with honey and it makes everything spin in a not-so-unpleasant way. How you are able to move so much while intoxicated is beyond me, I'm drunk as Hell and there's no way that I'd be able to bounce around the bunker like you are. That's alright though. I felt that I need to write more to celebrate Sam's recovery. He stopped after only a few drinks, and is now probably just enjoying your infectious enthusiasm. Kevin's long since gone quiet this evening, having eagerly thrown himself into the party scene. You're tugging me away trying to get me to dance right, but I'm not goi


	13. Chapter 13

**And that does it for the update spam. Hope you guys have an awesome weekend and thanks for stopping by!**

Dean, you are positively the worst human being on the planet. Who else could've made me indulge so extravagantly that I've only just been able to leave the bathroom after spending nearly the entire morning curled around the toilet? I even fell asleep again on the freezing tile. I believe it was more passing out and less sleeping, though. I truly think my head is honestly trying to killing me. I don't even know if you're alive still. I hear Sam milling about, doing dishes and picking up after last night. I feel like shit. That's the only term I have to accurately describe the way I feel currently. I feel it necessary to see if you've died of alcohol poisoning yet.

No, as near as I can tell you're feeling about as well as I am, which is not at all. I'm feeling better after taking medicine and drinking a cup of coffee. Sam's making breakfast for us as he's a kind, thoughtful, caring soul. No one on this Godforsakenly loud planet has earned more of my love this morning than your brother. He speaks in quiet tones, mindful of my headache. I have often wondered as to why the great schemer chose you to be the righteous man and not your brother. He certainly has more favorable attributes.

I awoke to the strangest of sleeping arrangements, which has been troubling me all morning. I you and I had fallen asleep on a couch together, my head lying on your chest. I can't be exactly sure as to how we managed to arrange ourselves in such a position. I vaguely remember something about you wanting me to watch some old science fiction movie and me submitting. I can't say that they weren't comfortable arrangements; in fact, it was some of the best rest I've gotten since my fall. But that's probably attributed to the alcohol and not the way I fit so well in your arms. I was still fairly disoriented this morning.

I tried talking to you about it, but you're in no mood to talk. Instead, you gave an animalistic grunt, shoved a pillow on top of your head, and waved me away. I think it is best I forget about it. It wasn't a gesture of affection; it was just two morons too drunk to make their way to their own beds. It happens all the time between friends, I'm sure of it. I must admit though, it's almost tempting to drink myself to that point beyond personal boundaries again.

* * *

Dean let a quiet chuckle fall from his mouth as he laid that last entry in the read pile. He stretched his back and rested against the side of the empty bed, realizing that the signs had always been there. Hell, he'd be lying if he told himself anything other than they'd been playing this game for years. That was many frustrating days of dancing around what the relationship was versus what it could be. He knew he was too chicken shit to take it further on the onset. Dean almost flinched as he remembered the turbulence of the beginning. It was rough, to say the least. He'd always been emotionally constipated, but having Cas just as confused as him only made things worse. That awkward phase had passed eventually and they developed it into something far larger than either expected. It was both a gentle and fierce love, passionate and forever. It would always be forever, even now.

After getting to know the Cas that was independent from Heaven, Dean had fallen. He fell hard for the naïve, tepid angel in an ill-fitting suit and overcoat. His life, not even he would believe it if someone told him this is how he'd turn out. His twenty-six year old self would laugh until he ran out of breath.

He'd be lying if he said that we wasn't happy this was the hand he was dealt. It was no royal flush, but a straight's better than nothing. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. Dean was reminded of the time him and Sam thought it would be a good idea to teach Cas poker. It turned into an all-night discussion of probability between Sam and Castiel. It was impossible to get the two to play another hand after that.

Sam had been strong the first few weeks as he knew Dean couldn't be. He'd taken care of his older brother, forcing him to eat and sleep, and kept him from the liquor as best he could. Dean had turned reckless on hunts, throwing himself willingly into danger. Sam knew his brother's intentions, but didn't mention it. He only watched him better, kept him closer. Dean sniffed and took a few breaths to clear his mind.

Reading the journal was emotionally exhausting. It was a little strange to see himself through another's eyes. And Cas had always been detail-oriented. At this, Dean flushed slightly, knowing what the later entries would contain.

There were still many pages to read through, and the night was still young. For the sake of his back, Dean sought out a more comfortable position to read. He crawled onto the bed, taking the pages with him. Propping the thick pillows against the headboard, Dean vaguely wondered why Cas had chosen his bed instead of this one to lie in.


	14. Chapter 14

I feel as though my eyes are burning out of my skull; I've been reading nearly non-stop for the past six hours. My muscles are tired from the strain of a perpetual squint and I'm exhausted. At some point you placed a sandwich in front of me, but the bread's hardened and the mayonnaise has turned a suspicious clear, making me hesitant to eat it. I'm not hungry anyhow. I'm taking a very short break from research to write down today's entry. I've been taking diligent notes on things that may pertain to repairing the mess I've made of the world. I would be surprised if I've found anything that could remotely help our predicament, though.

Kevin Tran has been making more appearances about the bunker since Sam's recovery. He's been working intently, continuing the translation of the tablet. My relationship with him is rather stiff; there's not much we both can relate to and I've not yet fully grasped the concept of "small talk". I'm not frigid on purpose.

Kevin's persistence is remarkable, regardless. We've all been searching through books, performing internet searches (I've since been banned from using the computer; it seems I'm easily distracted. I can't help being curious as to how much an all-inclusive trip to Cozumel is, Dean), and employing Garth to find anyone who may have an inkling of knowledge. So far, our search has yielded little results.

You're trying your hardest to keep everyone's spirits high. Sam's completely immersed in research and Kevin's exhausted. Your attempts aren't really helping; no one's paying you much mind as you randomly blurting out positive encouragement.

I suppose I've wasted enough time writing, I best get back to reading some barely legible journal written fifty years ago by a madman who claims to hear angels.


	15. Chapter 15

I had a dream I was flying without wings; slowly, leisurely without urgency to actually make it to a destination. You were beside me, looking upon the world with wonder and reverence. I woke myself laughing, though it quickly turned to sobs. I've no idea why I did that. Regardless, it woke both you and your brother. It was embarrassing as I wear the skin of a grown man and should behave as such. But you handled it with finesse, telling Sam to go back to sleep and sitting next to me on the hard cushions. You just let me cry for a few minutes without doing anything but being close to me. After I calmed down a little, you pulled me into a hug and held me for what felt like hours. I admit that may have made me cry a little more; your shirt was wet where I laid my cheek against it. But, you didn't let go until I started nodding off. You didn't say a damn word, but I swear you kissed the top of my head before I fell asleep against your shoulder. It could've just been a dream, though. I'm not sure which I find more reassuring.

Regardless, the morning went by without mention of last night other than Sam asking how I slept. I told him that I slept very well, which was something of an understatement. It was deep and comfortingly dreamless after that random outburst.

Today's been unmercifully hot, though I suppose that's to be expected as we're in Texas. Lake Jackson, to be exact. Garth called a few days ago, saying that the town had become overrun with demons. They were described as being uncharacteristically non-violent, making them suspicious.

One of the hunters here runs a local gun store and keeps a devil's trap painted underneath the floor mat, having ensnared one of the demons. She was interrogated and they discovered that there were many more scattered about the town.

We've been working all day, but still haven't discovered their plot. Since we've gotten into town, the horde has been in hiding. The only useful piece of information we have is that before the demons arrived, there was a man described with having incredible powers, healing the sick and injured. Why the angel left has been plaguing us all day, but we've yet to come up with a motive.

Sam's out, picking up burgers as it was my choice for dinner tonight. You're sitting on one of the beds and on the laptop. You asked me what I write about each day and I told you just about the day. A few minutes later you asked me if I ever wrote about you. I lied and said not often. You've been asking weird questions all evening; asking me if I want a family of my own, whether or not I like living in the bunker, parts of the world I'd like to see, things I'd like to do. You're not usually this talkative, it's strange. Thankfully, Sam has returned and has spared me from saying something stupid.

We've a plan for tomorrow; it's less than ideal, in my opinion. Sam wants to attract Crowley's attentions thinking that since he was nearly human last we saw of him, he'd be willing to give us information on the demons, or angels, or really anything. I feel like we're terribly unprepared to handle any of the problems burdening us at the moment. I've expressed my opinions, but you and your brother think it's a viable opportunity. I shall trust you, but only because that's my only choice. I need to get ready for bed, it's late.

After showering, I walked out of the bathroom and saw that you were laying on the couch that was far too small for me to sleep on, but comically so for you. You told me to sleep in your bed tonight and to shut off the lamp when I'm done with it.


	16. Chapter 16

**There was a little addition added to the end of chapter 15, just to let you all know. Thanks for stopping by!**

Negotiating with Crowley went horribly wrong, just as I had predicted. The entire situation was a trap, the demons in town having been bait for a pair of rogue angels. It's troubling to think that Heaven and Hell are working together to kill us. It's quite concerning. We were only able to narrowly escape the angels; my ankle was broken early on in the fight, rendering me useless while you and Sam were less than ideal matches for the angels. We've since hidden ourselves from them and are hiding until we heal. I was felled early in the battle; one of the angels having snapped my ankle. It's excruciating, but the pain medicine the hospital prescribed helps greatly.

I didn't think it so bad until you were screaming at Sam to get in the Impala. The pain must've put me in a stupor as I was completely unaware of my surroundings. Things were moving much too fast for me to keep up with. I remember you picked me up after the flash from the banishing sigil faded. You laid me down in the backseat; I didn't even really know what was wrong until the door bumped my foot. I'm not ashamed to say that I passed out from the pain. The next time I awoke I was lying in a hospital bed; you were at the foot of the bed and talking to the nurse. I must've made a noise, alerting you of my wakefulness as you were by my side in an instant. You discharged me and we've been lying low since.

You won't stop apologizing, but you've nothing to atone for, Dean. You're practically waiting on me hand and foot, checking on me regularly and helping me get around in the bunker. You're attentively monitoring my intake of medicine, much to my annoyance. I wouldn't be surprised if you counted the pills multiple times daily. I'm a grown goddamn man, Dean. I'm able to take care of myself. All this attention is both unnerving and frustrating. Being under such scrutiny is making me feel a little uncomfortable, given our curious relationship. I've found that having you near me either makes me anxious or fills me with fond warmth.

Regardless, I'm dizzy from the medicine and in no mood to put up with you flitting about, close by and always so eager to help. You're annoying me and I do not wish to deal with this today. I think I'll get to bed early this evening, after I read a few H. P. Lovecraft stories. The fact that you were the one to buy the anthology for me does not affect my current mood towards you. You're still annoying.


	17. Chapter 17

As frustrating as it is to be rendered useless, my injury has given me much time to simply think. I think as humans we don't give ourselves enough time to let our minds wander. We set up self-imposed filters which dictate what things are truly acceptable to think about. There's no purpose to this, though. We shouldn't restrain ourselves by limiting thoughts that no one will ever know. I've enjoyed this time observing and drawing conclusions about my life and those closest to me.

I've found that Sam is that wonderful constant to latch onto when life gets more than a little turbulent. He's always there to listen to my problems, lending an understanding ear. He's one to get advice from, I've learned as he's straightforward. It was him who suggested that I keep a journal; that alone has helped me immensely. These past few weeks have been made a little easier, thanks to Sam's compassionate nature.

You, Dean, are not what can be considered a steady presence in my life. You can improve my mood for days simply by smiling, or you can piss me off with minimal provocation. You're much more erratic than Sam, but I suppose such has always been a personality trait of yours.

There's a strange underlying feeling to everything with you; it's almost like a slight buzz right beneath my skin, one that stings and tickles and itches. It's an attraction; that much I've gathered. I'm not ashamed to say that you've been the object of a few of my more pleasant dreams. At first it concerned me greatly, but now it's something I've come to accept. It's only natural to harbor greater feelings towards you, having been through so much together. At least, that's what I've been telling myself. I'm not sure that self-imposed optimism is helping. I wake sometimes in embarrassment, your name still warm on my tongue.

Now this brings me to wonder as to what my purpose is within our motley crew. I've nothing unique to contribute and I'm rather naïve when it comes to most things. I'm not the best shot and I get distracted easily when researching. I wish I felt as strong as I did before as an angel. Anymore I just feel weak, fragile. Being human means there are certain responsibilities that I must carry out daily. I find that there's some comfort in the repetition.

Being human means there's potential. I've the ability to now grow and learn. I've only one way to go and that way is up. That's something I'd never have as an angel. I get to establish and maintain relationships. Although exhausting, I'm under the impression that they make life better. That's yet to be determined.

I'm allowed mistakes and am given the opportunity to fix them. Now I'm able to learn all of life's inconveniences and gripe about them as a normal human. I've felt closer to you and your brother since becoming mortal. I make you smile and Sam laugh at times, so I suppose I'm not as dispensable as I initially thought.


	18. Chapter 18

It seems the pain medicine is altering my sleep schedule. For the past week, I've had no problem falling asleep; the problem being that I wake up a few short hours later. I am unable to fall back asleep, so I spend the entire night awake. Most nights I hobble about the bunker as best I can on crutches, eating far more than I should and watching an obscene amount of television before you or Sam wake up. I've watched the infomercial about the shamwow so many times, I think I'm becoming a believer. Thank you Vince, I find your enthusiasm about a towel quite inspiring. I'm so goddamn tired.

The only remotely good thing about this situation is that I'm unable to accompany you on hunts. We all know I'd be useless and I'm just thankful that it hasn't been openly voiced. You and Sam have been gone the last few days, having taken Kevin to meet up with Garth as we need more assistance in researching.

The bunker is eerily quiet; there's almost a static noise in the overwhelming silence. The acoustics the high ceilings create seem to make the absence of sound deafening. Hence, why I've had the TV on constantly and the phonograph playing records when I feel inclined to get up and change it.

You've been texting me regularly, though. That keeps me from feeling too alone. It's stupid, I know, but I feel a little better every time my phone beeps. It was Sam who texted me this time, saying that you'll both be here tomorrow afternoon. As much as I've enjoyed this respite, I'm very much looking forward to your return.

I hope we gain control of the angel situation soon. The whole thing feels overpoweringly large, crushing almost. I need to set things right; I owe the world at least that.

I've no idea why I'm given these second chances, these narrow escapes. I'm not deserving of them, I know that. But I could possibly make things right, at least this one time.


	19. Chapter 19

Since you've been back, it feels like you've rarely left my side. You've asked me how my ankle feels, what I did while you and Sam were out, and other equally useless things. I've since retreated to my room, having told you that I need a little time by myself. You winked and said something rather lewd and have since left me alone.

From what I gather from your incessant chatter, Kevin is finishing the translation of the angel tablet while Garth tries to hide the existence of the angels from other hunters. He's been telling them that they're simply a different breed of demon and demonstrating the usefulness of holy fire and the banishing sigil. At this point, we're doing all we can to keep the situation as confidential as possible, which is no small task.

You and Sam are back at the bunker for an undetermined amount of time, continuing your search for anything that might give us something of an advantage. The Men of Letters library has proven to be invaluable, having numerous rare texts that are anymore irreplaceable. The weapons cache is also most impressive, though mostly outdated at this point. I must admit, the bunker is more than comfortable for the three of us. There's a denoted place for everything.

I've since found myself wandering up to the observatory some nights when I can't sleep; it all depends on whether or not I want to risk waking you or Sam up with my crutches. I've found that losing myself in the darkness of the night sky somewhat of a comfort. I can still appreciate the celestial bodies even though my mortal eyes miss much. The telescope is large enough to pick out much of the Moon's detail, and find some of the more complex constellations. My eyes strain from the effort after a while, though.

You seem confident enough in my mortal healing abilities that the cast should be off sometime next week. I'm not as sure as you, but I trust your judgment. It's been a few days since I've needed the pain medication, so I suppose that's a good sign. Life will be much easier after this damn thing's off; I've had a perpetual itch that's just barely out of reach. You swatted my hand away when I was trying to scratch it with a pencil earlier. I'll just be happy to shower like a normal human being once again.


	20. Chapter 20

You and I have been spending an increased amount of time together, something that I haven't failed to notice. Not that I'm the least bothered by it, though. I'm feeling more comfortable around you; there being only a few things I can't talk to you about, but those are things I wouldn't dare breathe a word to anyone. Regardless, I am enjoying your company and am actually finding myself craving it at times. The time that's not spent pouring through books is rare, but a treasured thing for me.

I wish I could still blame my lack of personal space on naivety of human etiquette, but I can't lie to myself. Thankfully, you don't seem to notice the lack of space between us until our shoulders brush when sitting together on the couch. Even then, you don't comment, you just smile a little and go back to watching whatever's on the TV. I'm both relieved and disheartened by this. I'd like the attraction to be mutual, but I'm content at the moment to simply be a close friend to you. I doubt I'll ever have the courage to confront you upright about my feelings.

In fact, I'm quite happy to simply watch you as you stumble about the kitchen, half-awake with your hair mussed from sleep. You've been having an increasingly hard time waking up, I've noticed. Whereas before, you'd be wide awake before the sun rose, you're now reluctant to get up before ten o'clock. I sleep very little, only being able to get a handful of rest a night. I can't say that I regret having the extra hours of wakefulness. Exhaustion seems to have become my default condition.

You've noticed that my sleep is still troubled; you mention it nearly every morning. Some nights I wake you up as I mill about, trying my best to move quietly with the crutches. It always turns into you forcing me down on the couch next to you while you turn the TV to something monotonous, the volume lowered to a barely audible level. I'm not sure if it's the white noise or the company, but it's not much longer afterwards until I fall asleep against your shoulder. Most mornings I wake alone on the couch, with a blanket tucked tightly around me. On a few special occasions, I've found myself in my bed; how you manage to carry me there without waking me will forever remain a mystery.


	21. Chapter 21

I had a dream about Gabriel last night. The dream began with me walking through some foreign garden, admiring the flowering plants. It was a pleasant dream, one that's not too uncommon for me; some of my fondest dreams are simply those involving nature. There was a sudden, obvious shift, though. The breeze that calmly blew through the trees chilled me to the core as I had opted to not wear a shirt to bed last night. The feeble sun filtering through the tree tops was not enough to warm me. I hopped from one foot to the other in an attempt to heat my body up, but stepped on a stick and felt the jolt of near-pain run up my leg. I was just beginning to panic, knowing that something was undeniably wrong, when I heard a familiar rustle. Upon turning to face the source of the noise, I was met with my brother's golden eyes.

Gabriel hasn't changed much in his absence, it seems. Before I could question his intentions, he greeted me with something along the lines of "You really messed up this time, didn't you, little bro?" I was defensive at first, but opened up within minutes to him. As frustratingly capricious as Gabriel is, he's (mostly) had good intentions.

I told him about the angels and demons, of Heaven and Earth. Throughout my recounts he remained quiet until I mentioned that I was living with you and Sam. He butted in saying that he was happy that I was at least being taken care of. I couldn't help but swell with pride a little upon hearing the praise given to you and your brother. Afterwards, he whistled and sat down, brows furrowed in thought.

It was at this moment that I decided to address precisely what was going on; he said that we were in a park in Washington. My silence must have urged him on as he continued, saying that he'd somehow been brought back and that he was unaffected by the other angels' fall. Unlike those cast from Heaven, Gabriel still has the ability to fly, but he was only able to find me in my dreams as the bunker is heavily warded against angels.

He then went on to tell me that God himself has spoken to him. He was told to seek me out and assist me in my endeavors. I was in such shock at this revelation that I was unable to speak for some time. I was about to ask about our Father when it was at that exact moment that you decided to wake me.

I admit, I probably shouldn't have punched you as hard as I did, but I didn't break your nose and I feel that it was justified. You were angry, to say the least. So much so that you avidly avoided me all morning until I forced you into a conversation. I shoved you against the wall and managed to tell you that I had a dream about Gabriel last night and that God tasked him to help us. That, at least got your attention.

The three of us talked about it around the table and after receiving this little shred of hope, we're all feeling a little relieved. For a while, it was feeling like the entire universe was plotting against us. We've all got a healthy level of skepticism, though. It's never a good thing to be too optimistic about something, especially when it's such an unreliable lead. I still count this as a victory, though, since you're no longer pissed and Sam's faith has been renewed slightly.


	22. Chapter 22

It's been a few days since Gabriel appeared to me, which is disenchanting to say the least. You're still holding on out of pure faith, but I can't say that I'm as much a believer as you. Sam too is staying positive. He tells me to have patience. I've yet to really grasp that trait, though.

You cut my cast off my foot yesterday, which is a blessed relief. I'm now free to scratch to my heart's content. I mentioned to you that I could use a heavier jacket for the upcoming autumn, but you said that you didn't want to go into town today. Sam said that he was busy as well. I suggested that you could possibly teach me how to drive, but you immediately shot that idea down. I've no idea as to why you're so protective over that damn car. It's not like I'd damage it in any way; I'd be very careful. No amount of convincing could sway you, though. That was a bit of a disappointment. Sam told me he'd teach me sometime, without your consent.

I've been sleeping a little better, but that just might be because I've given up trying to sleep in my room. Anymore, I purposely stay up to spend more time with you. It's selfish, I know, but I can't help it.

You caught on to my intentions right away, I'm sure. You still humor me and sit next to me on the ancient sofa; we'll talk for what feels like ages and when we've run out of things to say, we just sit in comfortable silence and watch the television. It's not much longer after that until I fall asleep. A few times, I've woken the next morning to find you sleeping with me. I'm not sure how the two of us manage to arrange ourselves in a comfortable position on the couch. Those mornings, I make sure to get up without waking you and start the coffee.

Sam found us like that one time. I pretended to be asleep, but I heard his heavy steps stop suddenly and listened to them fade as he quickly retreated back to his room. He shot you a weird look over breakfast that day, but you didn't seem to notice it. As near as I can tell, Sam hasn't confronted you about it, but he's mentioned it to me once before. He told me he thinks he knows what I'm going through and to be open with you. No offense to your brother, but I doubt he's much experience in these awkward romantic dealings. I appreciate his concern, though, and am more than willing to turn to him for advice should I need it. He's a very kind person.

* * *

Setting the papers to the side, Dean closed his tired eyes for a few moments, head leaned back against the headboard. Reading the journal was beginning to take a toll on his body, evident in the ache of his shoulders and his watering eyes. He opened them and glanced at the bedside clock. It read out 2:17 am and Dean had to stifle an involuntary yawn. He wasn't anticipating staying up this late, but he knew he'd be awake until the last page was read.

Dean let his gaze wander without direction about Cas' room, trying to find proof that he'd lived there. There was nothing unique around. Dean absently wondered where Sam had put Cas' clothes, thinking that the fibers might still hold a trace of his essence. He was suddenly desperate for anything more substantial than the leafs of paper before him, anything more lasting that had belonged to Cas. The typed pages held no comfort and the words themselves only made Dean's heart ache.

He shifted lower on the bed so that his head rested upon the pillows and turned onto his side. Inhaling, he wasn't able to smell anything other than the generic smell of cheap laundry soap; there were no vestiges of Cas' cedar-and-rain scent. The realization of the loss made Dean have to choke back a pained sob. He clutched the pillow tighter and buried his face in the forgiving cotton until his breathing evened.

Dean willed his protesting body back to a sitting position after a few self-indulgent moments. He blinked his bleary eyes a few times to clear them and picked up the stack again.

Even in his disconsolate state, Dean couldn't help a small smile playing upon his lips in response to Cas' meek advances. He knew Castiel had a serious crush on him; it was plain as day. At first, Dean was troubled by it, then thought it was quite flattering. It wasn't until he'd felt the first sparks of mutual interest that he started to panic.

It felt good to be wanted, to be needed, and Cas wasn't afraid to get his attention. Dean would be lying if he said he didn't look forward to those late nights, practically cuddling on the couch and watching crap TV with his fallen angel. He lived for those moments. Though, the first time he woke in the morning with Cas sleeping peacefully on top of him, he kind of freaked out.

He regretted wasting the time he could've spent with Cas. Dean blamed it on his persistent inability to let good into his life. Telling himself that there was nothing that could be done about it now did nothing to ease his guilt. He dove back into reading, seeking forgiveness from the silent words.


	23. Chapter 23

**Hey, guys! Just a quick little update, this will be the last regular update in probably a week or two. I've got some writing to do, but I'll post the next chapter as soon as it's done. Thank you guys for supporting the story through your views and reviews. It means the world to me (and Cas)! **

Gabriel's contacted me again in my dreams. Last night he began where he was interrupted, after the pleasantries were out of the way, that is. He told me that his knowledge on the angel tablet was limited and that God had apparently not informed him of its contents. Gabriel said that it's crucial and must be kept safe, though. He told me that there might be a way for Sam to continue the trials and survive. We would still need to find Crowley and cure him, but Gabriel wouldn't elaborate on how Sam would survive. He only said that God had explained it to him and said that it was for his ears alone. Gabriel went on to say that he'd have to meet with us in person with the details, but that he's not yet strong enough.

The angels' falling has taken a toll on him, as he exhausts his grace's power much quicker now. We'd need to designate a meeting point away from the bunker's wards and the prying eyes of demons and malevolent angels. Gabriel suggested a bar a few towns away and I committed its name to memory. He hugged me and I returned the gesture; he told me that we'd see him in three days' time. Right before I woke up he smirked and informed me that I got a proper eight hours of sleep tonight.

And I did in fact wake up rested, on the couch with you sound asleep with an arm draped over my waist. I had extracted myself from your grip and heard Sam in the shower. Last night had been a victory and I intended to celebrate it as such, so I made breakfast. It was nothing more than simple bacon, eggs and pancakes, but you looked upon me with reverence reserved for performing major miracles. You gave me a quick embrace and I can't help but think that I should cook more often. Sam too, expressed his gratitude with a hand on my shoulder and kind words of thanks when he wandered into the kitchen this morning.

Over breakfast, I'd eagerly told you both of Gabriel's news. You were enthusiastic, hoping that God's long overdue interference was to be a good thing (not to mention your eagerness to "give the bastard a piece of your mind"), while Sam was slightly more hesitant. Regardless, it was decided that it's a better lead than we or Kevin have gotten in a long time. Sam mentioned that we should give Garth a call to update him and see if Kevin's work has yielded any relevant information.

We've not accomplished much today, with you and Sam both dubbing it a "lazy day"; it's three in the afternoon and you've yet to put on pants and I'm wearing one of your shirts and a pair of Sam's old sweatpants. I've no plans to really get dressed today. Speaking of Sam, he just announced that he was running into town for a little grocery shopping; he said that he needed more fruit. And now you're calling me down, saying that we're going to watch movies all night.


End file.
